Chapter One: Stains Of Accusation

Ian's POV

If exhaustion had a face, it would be mine.

Evening had settled like a heavy cloak over Barry’s Bakery House, and I was still at my station, hands buried deep in soft dough, rolling out yet another batch of doughnut rings on the chilled counter. The hum of the ovens, the scent of yeast and sugar - it should have been comforting after a long day. But all I could think about was my aching back and how desperately I needed my bed.

“Just a few more minutes,” I whispered to no one, knuckles pressing into the dough. “Then I’m free.”

My body ached with the kind of weariness that seeps into the bones - raw, quiet, merciless. Even the simple act of stretching the dough felt like lifting a boulder. Sleep. Food. Silence. That was all I craved.

Then the door slammed open.

Samantha stormed into the room like a firecracker in heels. “Everyone stop working. Now. Mr. Barry’s downstairs. He wants to see everyone immediately.”

No greeting. No explanation. Just that clipped tone she always used - like we were ants under her shoe.

She turned to leave, but not before her eyes slid over me. Cold. Calculating. Like she knew something I didn’t.

A strange chill crept down my spine. My hands paused mid-knead.

Why did she look at me like that?

The rest of the bakers grumbled as they untied aprons and pushed away from the counters. I heard a few curse under their breath. No one liked being ordered around by Samantha - especially when we were so close to clocking out.

I followed them, tension knotting in my stomach. As I passed Brenda’s station, she lifted her head, brushing flour from her hands. Her gaze met mine - steady, smug. A faint, almost serpentine smile curved her lips.

Something about it sent a ripple through my chest.

No. That wasn’t just smugness. That was satisfaction.

"What the hell are you so satisfied about, Brenda?" I thought.

I tried to shake it off. Focus. She’s not worth it. Just go down there, listen to whatever Barry has to say, and get out.

But a thought clawed its way to the surface - the video. I just couldn't stop thinking about it.

Suddenly, the pieces didn’t feel so far apart. The video. Brenda. Her smile. Samantha’s look. The heaviness in the air.

Something was wrong.

I quickly washed the flour from my arms, untied my apron, and hung it neatly on the hook. The room emptied around me. Silence returned, but not the peace I wanted.

By the time I reached the front hall, everyone had gathered.

And there he was - Mr. Barry. Our boss. His normally polished face was dark with fury, pacing the tiled floor like a man ready to explode. Each slap of his fist into his open palm cracked through the tension like a whip.

The unease in my gut twisted tighter.

“What’s going on?” I muttered.

And then...

“WHERE IS IAN?!”

His voice boomed like a thunderclap.

I froze.

All eyes turned. My name had dropped like a guillotine in the middle of the room.

Why me?

“I SAID, WHERE IS IAN?!”

The rage in his voice peeled my skin.

With stiff legs and a throat tightening by the second, I stepped forward. “I’m here, sir…”

His eyes locked onto me. Like a hunter who’d finally found his prey.

“WHERE IS MY MONEY?!”

I blinked. “What…?”

“What money?” I asked, genuinely lost. My brows furrowed as my heart started to pound.

“Don’t you play dumb with me!” he barked. “Where is the hundred fucking thousand dollars you stole from me?!”

Time stopped.

The words didn’t make sense. I felt my mouth fall open, but no sound came out.

“I-I didn’t steal anything…” My voice was barely audible.

His finger stabbed the air at me. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been up to? You think I wouldn't find out?”

A strange ringing started in my ears. A hundred thousand? Me?

Everyone was staring. Judging. Silent.

“The police are on their way,” Mr. Barry hissed. “Let’s see if you keep this little innocent act up when they cuff you.”

The blood drained from my face.

“No, please, boss - there’s been a mistake!” I dropped to my knees, hands clasped. “I swear, I haven’t done anything! Please! I have never for once touched what is not mine.”

"Oh, my fucking God," he said under his breath, his anger simmering dangerously. "You're still lying?!!"

I didn't know why he was insisting I stole his money. But I couldn't say yes. I couldn't agree because I was not the one. I knew I wouldn't take his money. I didn't take it!

"Please sir, you've got to listen to me. I'm innocent. I have never taken what's not mine before. I didn't steal your money. Please." I kept begging.

"Shit!!" He cursed loudly and turned back, swiping a palm across his hair.

Then he faced me, his face now red from excess shouting, firing daggers into me with his blazing eyes.

"I give you ten seconds to bring back that money or I swear to God, I'm going to destroy you, Ian. I'll cut you in half, even before the cops arrive."

I opened my mouth to still plead. "Sir, ple-"

But he cut me off angrily.

"I SAID WHERE IS MY MONEY?!!" He bellowed.

The deep accusation fired another round of bullets in my chest and a whimper escaped my throat. The tears rolled out. Fast. Hot. Unstoppable.

I have been accused before in the orphanage where I was raised, after my life snatched my parents from me in a fatal accident. The insults that came after it, the beatings, I withstood them all. But this? This was worse than beatings and insults? This was heart-wrenching. The certainty in his voice was breaking me.

I tried to talk again, but nothing came out. Just my tears.

“Come out, Brenda!” he shouted.

And that was when my world truly began to crumble.

Brenda stepped into the circle, eyes wide with theatrical concern. Her face was the perfect mask of a victim delivering bad news. But that smirk was still there - just faint enough to make you question if you imagined it.

“I saw him during break,” she said. “He was on the phone, whispering, looking around like he didn’t want to be seen. I overheard him talking about ‘dollars’… and… and fleeing the country. I just thought, you know, it didn’t seem right. So I told Mr. Barry. I couldn’t keep quiet.”

She turned to the others, clutching her chest like some fucking martyr.

“Ian is the thief. He stole the money.”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even breathe.

She framed me.

And I had no idea why.

But the worst part wasn’t the lie.

It was realizing that, in this moment, everyone believed her.

And the sirens outside were getting closer.